


trails of ruin across my life.

by electriceell



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Foggy and Matt are soulmates, M/M, Matt's fucking life, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Stick is a dick, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriceell/pseuds/electriceell
Summary: Foggy runs into Matt and it gets him thinking. And Foggy's brain sometimes makes leaps that aren't pretty, but... they aren't necessarily wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week of really fucking terrible flashbacks of rape and abuse and a lot whiskey resulted in this. I'm... so sorry. 
> 
> Title is from my own [ poem](http://electriceell.tumblr.com/post/139394639851/i-dont-know-how-to-love-with-a-gentle-touch/) because I'm a narcissist.

It’s the way Matt flinches sometimes when too many people are yelling. At first, Foggy thinks it’s an overstimulation thing and then, once he _knows_ , he thinks that his delicate super-hearing just can’t take the level of noise. But the thing is, it doesn’t really seem like a pain reaction, it seems way more like fear. Back at Columbia, Foggy used to worry about Matt when he was like that, back when he thought Matt needed protecting…

Another glass of whiskey seems like a good idea, Foggy decides.

But it’s not just that. It’s the way Matt has to uncurl himself after a particularly violent conversation; one where the noise seemed to threaten violence to come. Fuck, Matt is violent. Matt is dangerous. But… It’s the way that some part of Matt cowers when it’s Foggy who’s going off. Not at him. Never at him. (Except _That Night_ when he found Matt dying, but he wasn’t as attuned to Matt Murdock’s every move since he was too busy having his entire world being turned on its head.) But when Foggy shouts about unfair teachers at Columbia, asshole colleagues at Landman  & Zach, and even when he and Karen would get going on Fisk, Matt sometimes… just kind of dissolved. He was there, but smaller somehow, flimsier. And what did that mean? What did it mean that the Daredevil in Matt disappeared when voices were raised? Was that a harkening to who Matt Murdock was without the devil or… was it indicative of something else?

Foggy realizes he’s talking out loud to himself and downs the rest of his mug of whiskey. He knows he’s a ‘big deal’ now that he’s a HC&B, but this, the cheap booze from the wrong glasses still seems right to him somehow. 

He shakes his head as he pours another two fingers of whiskey and immediately tosses them back like a shot.

“Still here, Foggy-bear?” Marci asks, poking her head in around the doorframe.

When he thinks back on this moment he’ll definitely remember swallowing his whiskey instead up sputtering it up a bit. 

“Yea… yea, just finishing some stuff up, Marce,” Foggy offers with a weak smile.

“Oh God, Foggy-bear. Stop fixating on your stupid ex. He was an idiot to let you go, but I can help you forget him for a bit.” Marci’s waggling eyebrows and leer should be off-putting, but with this much whiskey in his system it just seems like a good idea. She wanders further into Foggy’s office taking it all in. _Probably just trying to see how much better hers is…_ Foggy thinks to himself. 

He’s just finished up packing his bag and is reaching to grab the bottle when Marci adds, “Ugh, leave the whiskey. I have better stuff at my place. We can take shots as long as you promise not to bring up your ex.”

Tossing his bag over his shoulder Foggy closes the gap between them and pushes Marci up against the doorframe. 

“You’re my ex,” he says simply, before crushing their lips together. 

It’s all teeth and bruising kisses, the way Marci likes it. No time for being gentle. Foggy knows that the last man who was gentle with Marci was the uncle who raped her. Her sharp edges serve a purpose, one he would never imagine questioning. 

They take an Uber back to Marci’s apartment and, with one finger on her clit and two fingers pumping inside her, Marci comes in the back of the janky Nissan Cube and Foggy swallows her gasps. 

After Marci rides Foggy into her mattress and they’re cuddling (which Marci will denied happened), she asks, “Do you want to talk about Murdock?” and Foggy can tell she’s hoping the answer is No, but he thinks he might need someone’s opinion. 

“I saw him in court today,” Foggy starts. “And that’s no big deal – ” Marci snorts. “Fine,” Foggy amends, “it still hurts and I simultaneously want to scream at him and kiss the shit out of him, but it’s not anything out of the ordinary. He’s still a lawyer. I still see him around.” Sometimes at night when he’s been knifed or shot and needs help Foggy doesn’t add.

“Okay, so you saw Murdock and I’m assuming you didn’t scream at him or kiss him because you definitely would have already brought that up, so why were you sadly whispering to your whiskey, alone in your office on a Friday night?”

“Um… well, that’s what I think I need your opinion on. I definitely did not kiss or yell at Matt. We actually just chatted like normal human beings, something you know neither of us excels at.” Marci chuckles at that. “So we’re standing there in the courthouse, exchanging pleasantries like fucking adults, when some dickhead, an older dude, fucking goes off on Matt because his ‘special cane’ is ‘blocking the hallway’ or some shit. And, like, I’ve seen Matt brutally shut down ableist asshats like a fucking pro, but he just… kinda froze. And not the patented Matt Murdock kindly-shrivel-up-and-die stare and not that look that made preppy law school bros piss their pants; it was different. I would say it was a vacant stare, but all of his stares are kind of vacant because of the whole blind thing… But that’s the only way to describe it. It was like he just was gone. And this dude, this fucking asshole is getting louder and crowding into Matt’s space and Matt’s just shrinking. He ends up just folding up his cane, murmuring sorry, and high tailing it away from this dude.” 

And Matt fucks up criminals in his spare time, Foggy thinks, how could he be intimidated by someone who posed no real threat?

“And, what?” Marci asks, “You want me to psychoanalyze Murdock? It’s not like he ever does anything that makes sense.” 

“No…” Maybe Foggy shouldn’t bring this up. He and Marci aren’t close anymore, not like when they were at Columbia, but he thinks she’ll understand. Worst-case scenario she’ll knee him in the balls and send him home at ass o’clock on a Friday when calling a cab or an Uber will take eons.

“No, Marce, I, uh, I wondered if you thought it could be, like, some fucked up shit from his past…”

“Ah, so you called in your expert on abuse.” Marci rolls her eyes, but Foggy thinks she does appreciate Foggy differing to her whenever shit like this came up. He once called her about a case he took at Nelson & Murdock, after the Fisk case. It was a small thing, but, after claiming she wanted to be paid as a consultant, she also thanked Foggy, sincerely, for taking the case.

“Yea…?” Foggy offers, shifting slightly further from Marci, just in case she decides to start hitting him.

Marci’s smirk does nothing to assuage Foggy’s fears. 

“Good call, Foggy-Bear. Since this is one of my many areas of expertise I’m happy to weigh in, but you’ll have to pay me.”

“How?” Foggy quirks his eyebrow, “more sex?”

Marci snorts in response. “As if I need you for that. No, you’re taking me clubbing and you get to fight off all the disgusting men so I can actually just enjoy dancing and not worry about whether or not I need to rip off someone’s dick.”

“I am more than happy to squire you to clubs and ward off gross men for you Marce,” Foggy announces with a Renn faire accent and a rolling flourish of his hand.

“Ew. Never do that again.” Her tone is sharp, but Marci mostly looks thoughtful. “I mean, it’s not like I know a ton about Murdock’s backstory, but growing up in a Catholic orphanage? There’s a pretty decent chance he was in the hands of some fucked up people as a kid. It’s not like nuns are known for being gentle and understanding… more likely hitting and gaslighting in the name of Jesus. And it’s not like Catholic priests are known for not touching pretty little boys. So I’d say just from that there’s a decent chance Murdock has some serious abusive bullshit in his past, but what you’re saying makes it seem really likely. Like, I’ve seen Murdock eviscerate screaming assholes in court with a few even words and I’ve seen him talk down hysterical witnesses, but that’s in a really specific, well-defined space. I mean, if you guys are talking or boning or whatever,” Foggy makes a strangled noise that Marci, mercifully, chooses to ignore, “it might be worth bringing it up with him. He may freak out and deny it or do that patented awkward ‘I’m Matt Murdock and I can’t lie so I’m just going to back out of the room quickly’ thing. Just… just be prepared for anything.”

“Thanks, Marci.” Foggy leans over and kisses her on the nose, which garners and look of distain from Marci, “I know Matt’s not your favorite person, but I really appreciate it.”

“Look, you’re right that I don’t like Murdock, but I think I get him more, now, knowing… this. Besides, we were always just too similar to get alone. I’m just prettier.”

Rolling out of bed, Marci throws a pillow at Foggy.

“I’m getting water, I’ll bring you a glass. Oh, and if you’re spending the night, Fogs, you better have coffee made in the morning.”

Foggy smiles slightly at her comment and rolls over, mulling over what Marci said as he drifts off to sleep.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy wakes up with a raging hangover, but dutifully gets up and makes coffee for Marci, who manages to emerge from the shower looking as perfect as always, through some form of witchcraft or make-up magic. Maybe she sold her soul to devil.

 

Foggy snorts to himself. He has his own devil to deal with.

 

“You look like hell, Foggy-bear.” Marci snags his mug of coffee from him, adding, “You can take a shower here if you want. I’m going into work.”

 

Keys sail through the air and whack Foggy in the arm.

 

“Very impressive, Fog,” Marci says, her tone suggesting it was anything but. “Lock up when you go. And if you…” She looks torn. “If you talk to Murdock and, like, need shoulder to cry on, I’m here.”

 

“Pretend this is a witty quip about you actually having a soul. I’m too hungover to actually come up with one.”

 

With an eye roll Marci’s out the door, the decisive click of her heels fading as she enters the elevator. Foggy finds himself wondering how far Matt can track Marci’s heels. Can he separate her walk from everyone else’s? Or is her strong perfume more distinctive?

 

While in the shower, Foggy’s mind stays on Matt. He can’t help but hope that Marci is wrong about Matt’s past. Not just because what it would mean for Matt, but, as much as Foggy doesn’t want to admit it, what it would mean that Foggy had missed another huge thing about Matt. The senses… Matt had gotten really good at hiding them by the time he got to college, maybe that’s the case with _bad stuff_ from the past, but it seems possible that Matt doesn’t even acknowledge it. Foggy knows that Matt’s idea of normalcy doesn’t usually align with, well, most people’s definition of normal, so it’s possible he just thinks this shit is normal.

 

And Foggy doesn’t even know what ‘this shit’ is yet. Or if it’s anything. Although, it’s really seeming like it’s a something.

 

Foggy shakes his head to clear his thoughts, which was a bad idea because with some combination of his train of thought, the hangover, and the movement, he ends up throwing up the acidic contents of his stomach.

 

After brushing his teeth with Marci’s toothbrush (she hates it when he does that, but she’ll live) and rinsing it with boiling water (because if it tastes like vomit when she uses it she’ll actually cut off his balls), Foggy locks up Marci’s apartment and heads back home to develop a plan for confronting Matt. Because God knows, it’s going to take serious planning and potentially an intervention from the Big Guy to get this to work out in an even vaguely productive way.

 

* * *

 

He starts off by just calling Matt, who, by some miracle, answers his phone on the second ring.

“Hey Foggy, is something wrong?” Matt’s voice is laced with worry and Foggy tries to decipher what Matt is afraid of hearing.

 

“Um, no Matt. Just wanted to call and check in on you, buddy. How’re you doing?”

 

Matt responds with skeptical, “Fine?”

 

“Is that ‘Fine, because I’m not actively bleeding out’ or a real, normal person fine?”

 

Foggy can hear Matt’s sarcastic chuckle. “The latter, Fog. You don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“Okay, dude, you’ve gotta cut me some slack. Your definition of ‘fine’ diverges fairly significantly from the rest of the population…” They’re both silent for a few seconds before Foggy gets down to the purpose of his call. “Hey, Matt?”

 

“Yes, Foggy?”

 

“Would you want to get coffee or a drink sometime this week? Just, you know, hang out?”

 

Foggy can hear the woosh of Matt’s exhale, can almost hear the smile in his voice, “Yea, Fog, I’d love that.”

 

“Okay then! So, how about next Wednesday? After work, so like 6:30? You choose the place and text we where we should meet.”

 

“Sounds great, Fogs. See you then.”

 

When the line goes dead Foggy lets out a heavy sigh. Now he needs to plan for how this conversation is going to play out, if he even manages to bring it up on Wednesday.

 

* * *

 

 

Matt’s incredibly glad that Foggy can’t hear his heartbeat or read his expressions over the phone. Because he was sure his emotions were on display through the short conversation: worry, resignation, and then joy.

 

But what did Foggy want to talk about? After thinking for a moment, Matt can only imagine it’s something bad, which makes him feel idiotic about the joy he felt. There’s no way Foggy just wants to hang out with him and get a drink. He’s either telling him that he doesn’t want to talk anymore and that Matt should ignore him if they see each other or he’s turning Matt in because he can’t keep his secret or… Matt’s mind spirals. He grabs his gym bag and heads to Fogwell’s to try to shut his brain up.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, when Matt goes out, he pushes himself too hard. He knows he shouldn’t, knows he’s tired from hours with the punching bag at Fogwell’s, knows Foggy will see the injuries and Foggy will know and Foggy will be angry and Foggy will leave… but he still dives headfirst to break up some gang hazing ritual. And he does manage to break it up. The kid they’re beating half to death is regaining consciousness when the ambulance arrives.

 

Matt knows better than to go home and try to take care of himself. Claire’s still in Hell’s Kitchen, still let’s Matt come to her at all hours to be put back together. The gash on his cheek is deep, but clean. Claire stitches it up and asks Matt how he let some gangbanger get that close to him with a knife.

 

“I’m just tired, Claire. I wore myself out at the gym. Nothing to worry about,” Matt says with a strained smile. A part of Claire wants to push him, wants to know what really has him distracted enough to get cut that badly, but it’s 4am and she also really wants to sleep.

 

“Okay, Matt. You gotta be careful or else you’re going to get a cut I can’t stitch up or a break I can’t set and then where does that leave you?”

 

A tired smile creeps across Matt’s face and Claire returns it. He slips out the window with a quiet ‘thank you’.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it takes me to update! I promise I'm working hard, it's just that lab sometimes takes over my life (in the best way possible), but it kinda saps all my energy. Anyways! Hoping to update again sooner rather than later :)


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Matt and Foggy meet up for drinks the following Wednesday, Matt has already decided that this is Foggy’s parting blow. The KO, so to speak, to the weak sputtering remnants of Matt’s only real friendship. 

Matt arrives first and gets a booth near the front; the booth is for privacy, which is practical, and the proximity to an exit is for Matt’s sanity. Once Foggy says his bit Matt wants to be able to get out and to Fogwell’s as quickly as possible; he’s even brought his gym bag with him. As he sits waiting for Foggy, he worries his cane and sips at his beer. Some part of Matt is trying to come up with a counter argument, something to convince Foggy to stay, to show him that he can be what Foggy wants him to be. 

But no, he can’t. Foggy doesn’t want him to be Daredevil and he loves Foggy, but not more than the city needs him. Not more than he needs Daredevil. Because when Matt really digs in, something he general avoids, he knows that he needs to be Daredevil, needs the violence, the blood, and the pain. When Matt digs down deep, he knows the Devil is in there, waiting to destroy anything and everything he touches. And Foggy deserves better than that. 

Matt is so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear Foggy enter the bar or order his drink. It’s the pounding of Foggy’s heart as he approaches and the tang of his sweat that Matt recognizes, knows the combination from before exams in law school, before he asked Marci out that first time, and the night before they sat the bar. It is, unmistakably, a very nervous Foggy.

“Hey,” Matt tries to sound calm, as he folds his cane up and sets it to the side.

“Hey, dude, how are you?” Foggy’s response is full of false cheer and almost drowned out by the pounding of his heart.

“I’m fine, Foggy,” Matt says and then sighs, knowing he can’t handle the small talk and niceties. “Just get it over with. Say whatever it is you came here to say.”

“Who says I came here to say something?” Foggy is trying to sound calm, but his heartbeat has only picks up in pace. “Not everything has to be driven my some agenda Matt, jeez.” Lie.

Matt swallows his pain and keeps his voice even and monotone. “Your heart begs to differ.” That should set Foggy off, help push him towards the eventuality of this conversation. Matt takes a long drink of beer, suddenly wishing he had ordered something stronger. Like absinth. 

“Dude. Don’t be listening to people’s hearts! It’s an invasion of privacy… okay, you know what. You knew that would piss me off, but that’s not why I’m here. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Have a drink. Hang out with my buddy.” Lie. 

A sharp laugh escapes Matt. “I’m not trying to listen to your heart, but it’s practically screaming that you’re lying.” 

 

Foggy breathes heavily and Matt can almost hear him counting to ten in his head. “Finish your beer, Matt. We’re having shots.” 

Matt raises his eyebrows, but complies as Foggy wanders off to the bar to order four shots of tequila, which seems excessive if you ask Matt, can’t Foggy just get this over with? But then again, he was just wishing for a stronger drink. Maybe Foggy’s taking care of Matt one last time. 

Foggy sets two shots down carefully in front of Matt and then two in front of himself. Foggy says, “limes are in a bowl at your 2, salt is at your 12,” and proceeds to take his first shot. Matt follows suit. It’s good tequila and it makes Matt think of Elektra and her Mezcal tequila and that’s a bad train of thought that Matt drowns out with his second shot. He can taste dirt from the bartender’s hand on the lime which reminds him of that first ice cream with Stick, but he refrains from sharing any of this with Foggy. 

“Why are we here, Foggy?” 

“In this world? I don’t know Murdock, that sounds like a question for your priest, not me.” 

Foggy’s snark is met with something just this side of a growl from Matt, the devil leaking through the booze-weakened exterior. 

“Fine, got it, devil,” Foggy say sharply and Matt flinches. “I just…. I want to talk about something you won’t want to talk about, so just, please don’t freak out and run away or backflip off or something, okay?”

“Just say it, Foggy,” Matt says through gritted teeth. “You’re done with me for good, I get it.” 

“Wow, no. That wasn’t where this was going at all. Is that what you thought this was about and why you’re being a jerk and have the whole jaw clenching thing going on? Jesus, Matt, buddy, maybe tell me that’s what your worried about as opposed to growling at me and trying to bite my head off. I came back. We’re talking again, we’re being friendly and chatting like healthy fucking human beings and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be done with you, whether I want to or not, you know? You’re in my blood, dude.” 

“I…” Matt starts, voice a little choked with emotion, “Sorry, Foggy. I… I, um, feel the same way about you, too.” 

“Great,” Foggy says, a little too loudly, “Then it’s official. Nelson and Murdock – friends once more. Let us have a drink to celebrate!” And Foggy’s headed off to bar and ordering two more shots of tequila. 

They take the shots in amicable silence before Matt asks, “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Foggy sighs. “Look, Matt, I want to talk about stuff from when you were a kid. Like when you were in the orphanage and being turned into a weapon by that old guy, what’s his name, Prick? Dick?”

“Stick.” Matt stiffens.

“Yea, him. It's just," Foggy sighs, "you never talk about it, about him and what he did to you, but I think maybe you need to.”

“Why? Why do you want to bring up the past. We’re moving forward and that’s what’s important… it’s all over already. Stick is... he's unimportant.” Matt can feel the anger rising in him. He doesn’t want to talk about Stick, doesn’t want to think about him or how he left or how he sent Elektra or how he came back. He just wants to move on, move forward and can't Foggy see that?

“Okay, I don’t think that’s true. I think Stick is important because he was the first, you know, adult you spent time with and maybe trusted after your dad.” Foggy says it like it's a question.

“Yea, and then he left, end of story,” 

“Okay, but what do you mean by ‘it’s all over already’. What happened and what's over?”

“Look Foggy, can we not do this? I just… I need to go.” Matt throws his gym bag over his shoulder and grabs his cane, unfolding it and barely managing to fake needing it on his way out. 

Foggy rushes out after Matt, but somehow he’s already disappeared. Up an alley, across a rooftop, Foggy doesn’t know. But he’s worried. He prays to Matt’s God that the Devil doesn’t do anything stupid or irreversible tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord this took me forever... I was simultaneously working on a fellowship application (which has been submitted) and writing an academic paper (which is still in the works), but I'm still sorry it took me so long to finish this guy out. Thank you to all of you who've managed to stick with me.

The scene Foggy walks into at 3am the next morning reminds him of the night he found out about Daredevil. Matt is collapsed on his couch, bleeding out, but this time Claire is there, already trying to staunch the bleeding.

 

“This fucking idiot decided to test if he’s bullet proof. He’s not,” Claire calls over her shoulder, “so make yourself useful and grab me the vodka from the freezer.”

 

Foggy, true to form, does what is needed to keep Matt alive.

 

After Claire has dug not one, but two bullets out of Matt and cauterized the wounds Matt passes out on the couch into what seems like a fitful slumber.

 

“He going to get himself killed,” Claire says matter-of-factly, while peeling off her gloves, their sharp snap punctuating her sentence. “Sure the suit slowed that bullet to his chest, but a centimeter to the left? It would have missed the reinforced part and gone straight through him. And that’s a wound even the best trauma surgeon can’t fix.”

 

Claire sighs; it seems to Foggy that she’s resigned herself to watching Matt die, like she knows it’s just around the corner, but she’ll do her best to keep it away for as long as possible. Foggy supposes he’s in a similar place. Except he wants to build a wall so that death can’t ever turn that corner. Then again, he’s not the one elbow deep in Matt’s blood every other week.

 

“It was… He wasn’t in a good place when he went out,” Foggy starts, “I tried to talk to him about something he’s been avoiding and I think he wanted to prove a point.”

 

Claire smiles sadly in response to that. “Even Superman can’t withstand kryptonite,” she says wearily. “I just hope Matt can figures that out before he gets himself killed.”

 

Foggy nods in response, not sure what else to do. He wants to help Matt deal with the things that drive him to taking bullets, but what if he just makes it worse. What if he’s the one who pushes and makes Matt do something even more stupid, even more deadly?

 

His train of thought must be clear on his face because Claire says, ‘don’t blame yourself,’ before running through the things he needs to keep Matt from doing, what medications she’s left, and a reminder to call her if anything seems off. She drops a reassuring hand on Foggy’s shoulder and gives him a tired smile before heading out the door.

 

Foggy settles himself down on the table across from the couch. The one they bought at a flea market to replace the one that got mysteriously trashed last year. He never did drag that story out of Matt…

 

He leans forward, running fingers through Matt’s hair, which is stiff with cooling sweat. Matt hums, pushing up into the touch before pulling back whimpering. Foggy assumes he’s pulled his stitches and rips back the blanket covering Matt, but no. The gauze covering the wounds is still a clean white, so Matt’s whimper wasn’t in response to pain. Or, not in response to physical pain.

 

Foggy goes back to petting Matt’s head.

 

“What did he do to you, Matty?” Foggy whispers while scratching gently at Matt’s scalp and watching a small smile grow on Matt’s face. “What did he do that you’re so afraid of talking about?”

 

Scared that Matt will tear his stitches and die in his sleep, Foggy attempts to stay awake all night. He must drift off some time before sunrise because all of a sudden he’s waking up and the sun is out and he has his head on Matt’s shoulder and a hand in his hair. He can feel the gentle rise and fall of Matt’s breathing so he lets himself drift off again.

 

 

The next time Foggy wakes up he can tell that Matt is also awake. His breathing, while even and slow, is that of Matt’s meditative state, one that Foggy got used to during law school.

 

“Hey dude,” Foggy tries, gently patting Matt’s shoulder as he extricates himself.

 

Matt doesn’t respond and Foggy’s guessing he’s going to pretend he’s asleep to avoid talking. Typical Murdock.

 

Foggy decides to play along, “I’m glad you’re finally getting some sleep. Not super pleased that it required gun shot wounds to your chest, but still. Lord knows you don’t rest enough. I’m guessing you never did. Guessing Stick the dick trained you not to.”

 

Matt stiffens slightly but continues to pretend that he’s asleep.

 

“No person should have to go through whatever it is that he did to you. I don’t even know what he did, but I still know that. Then again, my elementary school teachers did say I have an ‘overactive imagination’. Still… I don’t think it’s that. I honestly think I might be underselling what he did to you in my brain.”

 

And then Foggy decides to go for broke because, fuck it, if Matt’s going to pretend he isn’t hearing this he’ll just keep on pretending or he’ll have to address both of these things. So fuck it.

 

“And look, Matt. You’re so fucked up. Like. You need years of therapy and a lot of cuddles to work through some of this. I don’t even know what it is, but I know that. But the thing is, I want to be the one giving you those cuddles. I love you, man. And - and I’m in love with you. And it’s okay if you don’t love me like that, I just want to be someone who makes things easier, you know. Not like, easier to get your ass shot as Daredevil, but easier to maybe, I don’t know, love yourself. Maybe see yourself the way I do. Because you’re amazing, Matty. Just being you.”

 

Foggy sighs and closes his eyes.

 

“The truth is that I’m in love with you and I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

 

Foggy eyes are startled open when he feels Matt’s hand winding behind his head and pulling him closer, slowly, tentatively, as if he’s scared Foggy will pull away, before their lips meet gently. Foggy loses himself to the sensation of Matt’s lips on his briefly, but then pulls back slightly remembering that Matt has multiple bullet holes in him.

 

Matt makes a sad noise and pouts. And Foggy laughs, just a little giddy.

 

“Don’t make puppy dog eyes at me, Murdock. I’m not the one who wanted to avoid a difficult conversation so badly I got my ass shot twice.” Matt rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “So now that we’ve confirmed that you were, indeed, awake for my whole monologue, and, don’t get me wrong, I’m 100% happy with the outcome, I still think you need to talk about Stick. It doesn’t have to be with me, but man, tell me he isn’t the type of predator you hunt, the type that started this whole Daredevil thing.”

 

“He didn’t…” Matt starts angrily and then pauses to take a deep breathe, his voice getting much smaller, “it was all training. That’s what he said.”

 

“And it’s totally understandable that you believed him as a little kid, but what would Daredevil do if he overheard that happening to some little boy.”

 

“I - I would make sure he never walked again. At the very least.” Matt’s expression is dark as he glares down at the couch, but he must hear the uptick in Foggy’s heart because his face softens and he directs it as Foggy. “God, Fog, I’ve put men in comas for less. I – I guess I should have stopped him, but he… he was so much bigger than me Foggy. I was so weak. If I had been stronger, maybe… but he never gave me time to recover. I could smell him when he was, you know, getting excited. He liked seeing me cry. Even though he told me to stop and called me pussy, I could smell him. He liked it. And I cried harder when he…” Matt sighs, swallows down tears, “It hurt so much, Fog. But he said I had to get used to the pain. And I – I believed him.”

 

Matt turns his face away from Foggy, trying to hide the tears he quickly wipes off of his face.

 

“Still in love with me now?” Matt asks, voice bitter, tears still streaming down his face. Foggy wonders if there was someone, someone Matt told or who figured it out. Someone who made Matt think he was worth less because of what had happened to him. Honestly, Foggy would like to beat the shit out of this unknown person and Stick, although he’d take verbally eviscerating them in court as an acceptable second option given his serious lack of physical fitness.

 

Foggy gently wipes tears off of Matt face, smooths his hair back, and presses a soft kiss to Matt’s forehead.

 

“I love you just as much, if not more.” Foggy says simply and a smile slowly blooms on Matt face, like the sun fighting its way through clouds. They have miles to go, trauma and betrayal to work through, but for now, Foggy is happy to make Matt his sun and set his orbit to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am, as always, flailing [ tumblr](http://electriceell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
